when it rains, it pours
by cheadsearc
Summary: hermione and draco have to do a job but maybe they're better off not doing it at all, because it will probably end in disaster the moment they start a discussion :: draco x hermione :: office!au :: for the houses competition


**for the houses competition, year two, round one**

 **house:** ravenclaw

 **word count:** 1992

 **story type:** short

 **prompts:** any non-canon pairing of your choice, anger, rainstorm

 **characters:** draco malfoy, hermione granger

 **thank you to my lovely betas: AJ and Tart!**

* * *

 _ **when it rains, it pours**_

 _word count: 1992_

* * *

When Hermione stubs her toe against the kitchen counter as she eats breakfast, she knows that she's in for a terrible day.

She's not wrong, really — she's _never_ wrong about such things. Perhaps that's unfortunate, but as is, she is nearly late for the bus; she has a pile of work which greets her as she enters her tiny cubicle; and then, she discovers that she's going to be working with _Draco bloody Malfoy_ for the rest of the month.

" _What?!"_ Hermione exclaims when her boss nonchalantly informs her that she's going to be organizing the charity ball with him. "But, there must be a mistake. You know that we don't really, er — _get along,_ don't you, ma'am?" She asks Ms McGonagall cautiously. She can have quite the temper, if provoked.

"Yes, I do, Ms Granger. And that is exactly why I've assigned this job to the two of you. Besides, there aren't many people in this office who are quite as good as the pair of you at organizing and hosting such events." Hermione feels flattered, but still confused.

 _Why would someone assign a job to two people who don't quite get along, knowing that they could cause a bloody mess out of things if they lost their tempers?_

"I know that this could potentially end in disaster if you decide to let your pride and temper run rampant," says McGonagall, recognising the confusion on Hermione's face. "But I hope you will move past your differences and work together. It is high time, don't you think? To be quite honest, Granger, we're tired of seeing the both of you spar with words and try to start a war with your insults. Please do try to be mature enough to let bygones be bygones and work as _acquaintances_ at least." Hermione has the grace to blush. McGonagall's mouth twitches for a moment before she says, "You are dismissed. I will mail the details to you this afternoon. Meet up with Malfoy as soon as possible." McGonagall shoots her a look that warns her that she'll know if Hermione doesn't do so. Hermione gulps and nods.

"Yes ma'am." Hermione says, sighing as the office door closes.

This is going to be the most painful month in Hermione's entire life.

* * *

"I _swear,_ I'm going to murder him," growls Hermione, a few hours later, as she taps her fingers against her cup of tea. She checks her watch — the hundredth time she's done so since she arrived at the cafe — and her scowl deepens. Draco Malfoy is an _hour_ late for their discussion meeting. _Why did I agree to this again?_

Hermione seriously contemplates leaving the cafe and going back home to Crookshanks and a Star Wars movie, but the doorbell tinkles and she looks up to see Malfoy saunter in with all the exaggerated grace of a cat. He spots her, and makes his way towards her table.

"Impeccable timing, Malfoy." Hermione says, venom dripping from her words. He ignores her, perusing the menu in front of him, with an infuriating smirk adorning his face. Hermione resists the urge to punch him.

"I'll have a tea, with very little milk, thank you," he informs the flirty waitress, who is batting her eyelashes at him. Hermione curls her hands in her lap. She doesn't want to _accidentally_ strangle one of them because this is bloody _annoying._

"Malfoy." Hermione begins, struggling to maintain a calm tone. "Shall we discuss the Ball? There's a lot of work to be done."

She's met by silence and another smirk. Narrowing her eyes she continues, "I was thinking of the twentieth as the final date, I know that McGonagall said it was to be on the twenty-first, but it is simply not possible, considering that there's an important meeting with — "

"Stop babbling for a moment, Granger."

 _What?_

"What did you say?" Hermione's voice takes a dangerous tone and that isn't good, because she might explode any moment now…

"I said stop _babbling._ You always do that, you know? It's annoying and pointless. Just give me the folder and be done with it. I'll take care of the rest," says Malfoy, snidely, examining his fingernails. Anger courses through Hermione's body and she's almost about to explode into a supernova of bitter insults and profanity when the flirty waitress arrives with Malfoy's tea.

Inhaling deeply, she begins, "I know you don't like me, Malfoy — and I assure you, the feeling is mutual, but you can bloody well _try_ to be a little friendly. You're not the only one who's stuck with this job. You're working with _me_ and that means you've to listen to what I say. If your pride comes in the way, I can't do anything about it." She stares at him and he purses his lips uncomfortably. "Here's the folder. I've put in a few swatches for the decoration — feel free to criticise it as much as you want. After all, what I say is _annoying_ and _pointless,_ yeah?"

She stares at him scathingly, before high-tailing out of the cafe, thinking that she might have won this one after all.

* * *

She finds him by her desk next day, his shirt untucked casually and his blonde hair disheveled. She stiffens up at the sight at him and hitches the bag higher up her shoulder. He smirks lazily when he sees her and Hermione ignores that little voice which registers just how handsome he is.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she questions, stacking up a few papers that need to be sent to McGonagall.

"To apologise."

She stills at his words. " _What?_ " Hermione is positive that her eyes resemble saucers as she stares at Malfoy — because _is he apologising?_

"You heard me," says Malfoy irritably. "I'm sorry for all those insults in the cafe and for _acting like a child."_ The way he says it makes Hermione think that he is quoting someone — McGonagall, possibly. "So, what do you say to being — er, _acquaintances,_ since we have to work together anyway?"

Hermione purses her lips. She _could_ sneer at him and say _no fucking way_ because he has insulted and demeaned her too many times.

Or she can take the high road and accept the pale hand he has stuck out for her to shake. Become _acquaintances._

Everything in her is telling her to go with the first option.

 _But won't it be much easier if you made your peace?_ An angelic little voice asks. She hates it with all her being. Nope, she's not going to listen, she's going to be mean and throw the offer in his face...

Hermione grips his hand and gives it one firm shake. Malfoy smirks at her and settles into a chair next to her desk, asking, "So, what do you need me to do? I assume that you've already done the hard stuff, because I'm surely not up for it..."

Sighing, Hermione settles into her own chair.

This can't be good if she's regretting it already.

* * *

When the day of the Charity Ball arrives, Hermione knows that her luck is beyond rotten. Everything is perfect, the ballroom looks wonderful and the orchestra is on stage, tuning their instruments, waiting for the cue to start their music.

Except, there is one tiny thing out of place.

Hermione can hear the roar of the rain pounding against the windows, a torrential downpour that might flatten someone daring to step outside. The weather report says that this rainstorm won't give up until later at night and this sends Hermione into a panic because _how are they supposed to hold dinner outside if this rain doesn't let up?_

 _And the tables are drenched — they can't even be brought inside!_ Hermione is close to tears with panic but she keeps a pleasant smile on her face as she greets the guests, who are carefully removing their wet outerwear.

To top it all off, Malfoy is nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to be there an hour ago, but is still absent and she can't help but feel furious about it.

 _That's right, he's gone and disappeared, right when we need him the most._

After greeting the last of the guests, she follows them into the incandescent ballroom, all the while contemplating ways to solve this potentially disastrous blunder.

* * *

Malfoy turns up a half-hour later, when she's begging the owner of the ballroom to let them use the room adjacent to it as a dining hall over the phone. She is abruptly cut off from speaking to the man when a pale hand grabs her phone over her shoulder.

Glaring, she turns to the culprit, knowing quite well that it is Malfoy. As she opens her mouth to speak, he waves her away impatiently while saying, "Mr Nott — yes, this is Draco Malfoy — we spoke before? — yes, she is with me. — We'd like that very much, thank you. — An hour will do. — Thanks again, Mr Nott. Good evening." Hermione's eyebrows are raised with indignation.

"And what do you think you're doing Malfoy?"

"Saving the situation." At her enquiring look, he rolls his eyes and says, "Mr Nott is an old friend of my father's. I asked him whether we could use the other ballroom for the dinner and he said yes. Now you don't have to worry yourself to death and McGonagall won't have our heads for breakfast tomorrow."

"I — you — You could have _said_ something! I was panicking since I arrived here and you're telling that Mr Nott is your father's friend _now_? You could have saved us so much trouble, Malfoy, but _no_ , you are your sneering, arrogant self and don't tell anyone _anything._ And you came an _hour_ late — do you know how much I worried that something happened to you?" Hermione glares, tears forming in her eyes. "I — I thought we were getting along fine, that maybe we were _friends,_ when we were working on this. It seems I was mistaken."

Hermione doesn't know where that rush of feelings come from, or why she's blushing under Malfoy's stare. She turns to leave, but —

"I'm sorry."

Her breath catches in her throat, and she turns her head towards him. He looks striking in black and grey, she notices.

But what's on the forefront of her mind is that he apologized.

Again.

His silver eyes dart across the room and he says, "C'mon, let's get out of here."

Her splutters of _It's raining buckets out there, Malfoy!_ is lost on him as he drags her to a small alcove outside the grand hall, facing the road. She is showered with cold droplets of rain, but she doesn't care.

"I'm really bad at this, and I'll probably mess everything up but — I'm sorry for all those snide comments and insults I threw your way. It was a defense mechanism, really, because you were so beautiful and I didn't know what to do about it." He smiles crookedly at this and Hermione blushes. "I know you probably hate me but here goes — " A deep breath and a charming smirk. " — Would you care to go out with me tomorrow, Granger? I'm sure you're free, it's a Saturday after all."

Hermione rolls her eyes before saying, "You _do_ realize that this is completely cliche — out in the rain, with your cute little smirk and _mmph_ — "

Her remaining statement is lost on his lips, soft on hers. She feels like she's melting and her heart beats unnaturally fast but _mmm…._

"It's a simple yes or a no, Granger. Do you have an answer for me?" He looks almost triumphant now.

Her answer is lost, _yet again,_ in a perfect kiss, his warmth surrounding her and the biting cold of the cheek and all she can think that the evening turned out _magnificently,_ after all.


End file.
